


The River

by Anuna



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Character Study, Choices, Friendship, Gen, Introspection, John Garrett is a douchebag, also Natasha was Ward's spy mama, and one's identity, ca: tws spoilers, canon compliant mind control, it basically means she trained him to be a spy, just ask Clint, one where Natasha saves her messed up boys, picking ice cream has a deep meaning for me, reclaiming self, taking things step by step, while sitting by the river and eating ice cream
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 07:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1501826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anuna/pseuds/Anuna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Sleeping is a matter of perspective. It can mean rest and it can mean missing out on whole lot of stuff.</i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Aka, Grant Ward contemplates his life, his choices and the lack of them after the world crumbles around his ears and his former spy mentor runs to his rescue. She and two more messed up boys of hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The River

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ashen_key](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key/gifts).



> Written for my dear friend [ashen_key](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ashen_key) for the occasion of her brithday!
> 
> Few notes: in this 'verse Natasha was Ward's spy mama (his mentor, I doubt Garrett could teach him all the fine skills needed for that) and when she finds out things that have went down since SHIELD has fallen, there's no way she's gonna leave Ward with the guy who had the worst kind of influence on him. This is a serum'd version of Natasha who goes back to WW2 and has known Bucky/Winter Soldier for ages.

_those memories come back to haunt me  
they haunt me like a curse_

 

*

He wakes up with considerable headache. It's almost a relief, like having an outlet for everything he's been carrying within for past weeks. Despite his conclusion that he probably deserved it, it still hurts (actually everything hurts, in a way that tells him he's been sleeping in an awkward position, but that doesn't make much sense, because he's pretty comfortable). 

Grant looks around, carefully and without moving. The room surrounding him is pleasant, warm enough for short sleeves, there's a pillow under his head and no shoes on his feet, and _wait_. He knows this place. 

And that voice talking over the phone. 

“Well, you find out a lots of things when you dump all information of a secret agency onto internet,” Natasha Romanoff says. “Seems like Fury pulled a _you_. Clint is pissed at you, by the way.” 

_Fuck_ , Grant thinks. He's been here before, but he doesn't know where exactly _here_ is, or how to get here anyway. 

“It was top secret,” Coulson's voice comes over the speaker. “Tell Barton I'm sorry.”

“Excuses,” says Natasha. “But that was not my point. My point was -”

“I _got_ your point,” says Coulson, with somewhat uncharacteristic impatience. 

“Fine. Then you'll agree with me,” Natasha answers. Grant can hear her pacing over the hardwood floor – it's a fine floor, and a fine house, because nobody has secret houses like Natasha Romanoff does. Well made and comfy and surrounded with wilderness. 

Coulson grumbles something. Grant wonders if the man is still sticking to meticulously ironed suits and neckties and assumes that he does. He's that kind of a guy. “Did you kill Garrett?” he asks and Grant sucks in a breath. 

“No,” says Natasha, after which comes relief, but not the real kind of relief. “Ward is the only reason why I didn't,” she adds. Grant's chest feels like it weighs a ton. He doesn't know what to think of this. “I did shoot a guy with an appalling taste in expensive suits.”

“You won't hear me saying I'm sorry,” says Coulson. “What do you think you'll accomplish with this, Natasha?”

“Oh, nothing,” she says. “It's up to him. He decides.”

There's a silence. Natasha stops pacing. “I think you'll understand that,” she says softly. Coulson sighs. 

Grant closes his eyes and wishes he could sneak out and just … go, but knowing Natasha? It's not a sensible option, not if he doesn't want to risk surviving the wilderness. Besides, she might have taken his shoes for comfort or to diminish his chances of escaping. Or both.

“You and your team can meet with him when he's ready. If he's ready,” she says and a different kind of weight presses down Grant's throat. “And that's not debatable.” 

“Stay safe,” Coulson says after a short silence. 

“You know I will,” she answers. Grant doesn't hear anything after that for a moment or two. “It's a great sunny day out there, princess,” says Natasha then. To him. He opens his eyes to look at her. “Your shoes are by the door.”

Grant breathes. Of course she didn't _take_ his shoes. He pulls himself up and rubs his face. 

That's something John Garrett would do. 

*

When Grant does get up a five minutes later and makes reluctant way to the small kitchen, Natasha is making coffee. No sugar and no milk, the way she saw him make it way back, before he started pretending he liked different kinds of coffee in different circumstances. 

“This way you can always add something,” she says and hands him the cup. Her hair is straight which looks a bit odd on her, but not bad. She smiles. “Head hurts?”

“You hit me, didn't you?” he says but she just looks at him over the rim of her own cup. 

“You needed it,” she says. 

“Did I?” there's resentment rising within him, and he's not sure why. She keeps looking at him, not backing away and not telling him he's not supposed to feel resentful. Which is... odd. 

“Not really, not like you mean,” she says. “You'd resist me taking you here,” she says. “I was merely being practical.”

“Of course,” he says. “How did you get me out? I'm still taller and heavier.”

“I had help,” she says. This time he gives her a slightly worried look. “I didn't bring a judgmental company,” she says, inclining her head towards the door leading out of the kitchen onto the small porch. When Grant pokes his head out he can hear voices. One he recognizes. 

“Barton?” 

Natasha nods. “I like to call it the lost boys club,” she says. “Help yourself to the ice cream,” she adds and then walks outside. 

*

It's up to him, she said. It echoes in his head when he opens the fridge and faces a dozen different ice cream flavors. 

_The fuck_ , he thinks and grabs the nearest one. It's pistachio and who even likes pistachio ice cream? (Fitz, maybe. But that thought hurts, so Grant doesn't think about it). He doesn't want that one and puts it back. And then stares. He isn’t sure he wants any of them. 

“You should make up your mind fast, or Barnes will eat them all.”

Grant looks toward the door – Barton looks like one of those people who never age. They just gain more experience which you can't really read off their faces but it's there and it makes them solid and somehow incredibly real. Barton wasn't intimidating – he didn't need that kind of air around him, but nobody doubted that he could be dangerous if he chose to be. 

“Barnes?” Grant asks. 

“Asshole with a metal arm and super human strength, though more obnoxious than Captain America,” Barton says. 

“Heard you,” says another voice. The man appears and Grant's jaw drops a little and the newcommer sighs audibly. “Do me a favor, Barton, I am tired of explaining.”

“Nooope,” Barton says. “You get to explain yourself. Exercise is important.”

“I'll kick your ass,” the man crosses his arms and the metallic one is reflecting sunlight. 

The man said not to exist. The man who, judging by his face, should have died in World Ward 2. 

“You have to find me first,” Barton answers. 

“Like I couldn't.”

Grant looks between them and wonders what kind of bizzare limbo his life has turned into. Barton moves to the fridge and helps himself to a beer, then he changes his mind and grabs an ice cream carton. “That was a tight situation there,” he waves a spoon in Grant's direction. “We barely got you out.”

“Thanks,” Grant says, tight lipped, not wanting to think about it, except it's kinda hard to ignore that the guy he owes _everything_ to decided to kill him. Just like.... that. He thinks about what Natasha said to Coulson – why she didn't shoot Garrett – and doesn't think he understands. Wouldn't it be easier if she did? 

No, not really, he decides slowly. 

“Wanna go out?” asks the man with the metal arm and Grant nods. “Bring some ice cream, then.”

*

Metal Arm's name is James, and he asks to be addressed as James, or Barnes. 

“Brainwashed, frozen, don't remember most things I've done, don't remember how often I got drunk and made a fool of myself,” he says and licks the spoon, then looks at Grant like he's saying _beat that_. Four of them are sitting on the river bank – Natasha sticking her toes into the water – it's a hot day and Grant finds himself wishing he'd do the same. 

Agent Ward wouldn't, of course. Skye and Simmons would. Fitz would probably tell them ten different reasons why swimming in river is a bad idea, but he'd let them talk him into it at last. May would roll her eyes and Coulson would give them a benevolent smile. _Agent Ward_ would keep his eyes on them, just in case, even though they can probably swim better than him. When having fun, that is. 

Because everything was fun with Garrett, except it wasn't. Not really. 

“You gonna eat that?” James asks and points to Grant’s ice cream. 

“Help yourself,” Grant says and passes the pack of cherry-vanilla half heartedly until he sees Barnes crack a smile. There's something about it that helps. 

Barton passes Grant his carton of hazelnut – chocolate without prompting. “You look like you need it,” he explains. 

Grant lets out a deliberate, slow breath. Three heads perk up, almost as if they have been conspiring behind his back or something. How the fuck should anyone _know_ what he needs? 

“What do you want me to say?” he snaps. Natasha rolls her shoulders, two men don't react more than turning their eyes ahead. 

“Did you always say what someone else wanted you to say?” Barton asks. “Because, if that's the case, it sucks.” 

Grant frowns and doesn't dignify Barton with a look. 

“Yeah, you'd know.”

Natasha and Barton share a look. It's not something Grant sees, he _feels_ it. Barnes sighs. “Fair is fair,” Barnes says. “You brought him here, you want him to talk, you explain him some things.” 

Barton clears his throat bit uncomfortably. “Right,” he says. 

“Clint,” Natasha's tone is soft in the way Grant hasn't heard yet. Barton hunches forward, finds a pebble somewhere in the grass and flicks it into the stream. 

“Brainwashed,” he says and points to Natasha. “Brainwashed,” he points to himself. “Taken hostage by an Asgardian sociopath who turned me into his private puppet. Sucked, but I bet yours sucked as well.” 

Grant looks at Natasha. 

“I read the files before your hacker friend deleted them,” she says. “You and Clint tend to attract Asgardian trouble.”

“ _Natasha_ ,” Barton's tone is so over the top, it can't be real hurt. Which, frankly, Grant doesn't understand, and he's not ready to joke about these kind of things, but in a way he thinks they don't expect him to. He's seen this between Natasha and Barton before. Saying outrageous things is like expressing affection. “Nat lacks tact,” Barton explains. 

“Understatement,” says Barnes and tosses the empty ice cream carton to Barton. 

“Look, Grant,” Natasha starts. It's a rare occasion to hear her use his name, and when she does, she's serious. “You got tangled up in bad things because you trusted the wrong person, and I don't think it was something you knew way back when you -,” she pauses to look at him. “Started trusting him.” 

After that she gets up, and Barton does as well. He pats Grant's shoulder, once, and they disappear into the house. 

He's now alone with the guy formerly known as The Winter Soldier. Not that Grant could tell, if he didn't see the metal arm – which looks strange combined with jeans and a t - shirt that used to be blue. He looks tidy, with clean shaven face and neatly cut hair. Just as Grant remembers from his history book. 

Grant makes himself look ahead instead of staring at Barnes, but questions are appearing in his mind faster than he can shut them up. How did he survive? Where was he? Who did he work for? Yes, of course Grant heard about the Winter Soldier and assassinations ascribed to him, and yes, he had seen the footage from two months ago, and this guy here doesn't look like the insane rage monster with a mask and a gun. 

“I was working for Hydra,” Barnes says, like he can read Grant's mind. “They'd put me to sleep, wake me up, give me a mission -” he looks at Grant, his face is neutral and he probably doesn't aim for any kind of deeper meaning, but his words hit home pretty hard. It feels familiar except the sleeping part, which is just an euphemism for being frozen alive. 

Grant considers the ice cream melting inside the carton he had forgotten and realizes that he doesn't really have a favorite. Sleeping is a matter of perspective. It can mean rest and it can mean missing out on whole lot of stuff. The man next to Grant stares at the distance – across the water and into unknown, or maybe into his own past which is probably also an unknown. For a moment he wonders wouldn't it be better not to remember anything. 

“How.... why did you stop?” Grant asks this of all the things. 

“Someone helped me remember,” Barnes says. His lips tilt up, but it doesn't look like smile – instead it's sadness stretching his features. 

“Remember what?” Grant can't stop himself. For some reason this is easier than talking to Barton and Natasha, and maybe it's because Natasha has been one of his mentors and Barton's always been there somewhere and now he can't look at them and know _who_ is supposed to be looking at them through his own eyes. 

“A little bit of myself,” Barnes says. “That's why Natasha calls it the lost boys club. Barton's perception is messed up. My memory is messed up,” Barnes looks at him and shrugs. “I need to figure out things. Like ice cream flavors.”

Grant nods. Barnes needs to find a new identity, because he obviously doesn't remember the old one. Clean slate, Grant thinks, and it's not as fun as one might imagine. Clean slate, Skye said over the phone unaware of what she was actually saying. It feels like he spent all his life following John Garrett's orders and being _his_ clean slate, and now, when he didn't want to shoot Simmons and Skye, Garrett was going to shoot him. 

“What if you don't know what you want?” Grant asks. “Only what you _don't_ want?” 

He looks at Barnes who seems younger than Grant, like he was frozen at age of twenty six or so, but still a part of Grant feels like a child seeking guidance. He suddenly wishes Coulson was here and even though Coulson is just a phone call away, Grant doesn't feel ready to call him. Not yet at least. 

Barnes smiles this time - a half smile, but a real one, and it seems a bit like his face is still out of practice to show compassion. But there it is. 

“I guess that's much better than nothing,” he says. 

“Yeah,” Grant nods. He decides that he wants to know at least a little bit about who is inside his own skin when he faces Coulson. 

Until then he can decide on ice cream. And maybe stick his toes into the water near his feet.


End file.
